


Longest Way Round

by emh28



Category: Big Fish (2003), X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alabama, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Big Fish AU, Circus, Conjoined Twins, Family, Journey, Korean War, Multi, No Wanda Maximoff, No period-typical homophobia, Pregnancy, Romance, Southern Gothic, Storytelling, draft, small town
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-09 23:31:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2002257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emh28/pseuds/emh28
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In telling the story of my father's life, it's impossible to separate fact from fiction, the man from the myth. The best I can do is to tell it the way he told me. It doesn't always make sense, and most of it never happened.</p><p>But that's what kind of story this is.</p><p>Or: On his deathbed, Erik Lensherr takes it upon himself to tell his greatest story. The story of his life. </p><p>(Based on the movie "Big Fish".)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. “Me. And me now.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based off the 2003 movie "Big Fish" directed by Tim Burton. I don't own that movie or any of the X-Men movies or characters.
> 
> The title and all of the chapter titles come from James Joyce's "Ulysses". I don't own that either.
> 
> A guide to POVs:  
> Italicized and First Person- Erik (Speaking to audience)  
> Italicized and Third Person- Erik (Flashback)  
> Normal and First Person- Pietro (Speaking to audience)  
> Normal and Third Person- Pietro (Present)
> 
> Also, I call Piero "Pete" a bunch. Seriously. I don't know if I actually use his real name in this story once.
> 
> Enjoy!

_._

_._

_._

_There are some fish that cannot be caught. It's not that they're faster or stronger than other fish. They're just touched by something extra._

_One such fish was The Beast._

_And by the time I was born, he was already a legend. He'd passed up more $100 lures than any fish in Alabama. Some said that fish was the ghost of a thief who'd drowned in that river years before. Others claimed he was a dinosaur left over from the "Cretaceous" Period. I didn't put any stock into such speculation or superstition. All I knew was I'd been trying to catch that fish since I was a boy no bigger than you._

_And on the day you were born..._

_Well, that was the day I finally caught him._

_._

.

.

A man and a group of young boys sat on logs in the middle of a forest, a fire illuminating their faces. The boys were all outfitted in scout uniforms for their annual camping trip. The man leaned closer to the boys. “Now, I'd tried everything on it: worms, lures, peanut butter, peanut butter and cheese,” he whispered to the enraptured troop. “But on that day I had a revelation: If that fish was Henry Walls' ghost, then the usual bait wasn't gonna work. I was gonna have to use something he truly desired.” The man held up his left hand, his wedding ring glinting in the firelight.

“Your finger,” asked one of the boys, his eyes wide.

“Gold.”

At the end of log, one scout rolled his eyes and slumped over. Pete had heard this story one too many times.

.

.

.

_Now, I tied my ring onto the strongest line they made, strong enough to hold up a bridge, they said, if only for a few minutes. And then I cast upriver._

_The Beast jumped up and grabbed it before it even hit the water. And just as fast, he snapped clean through that line._

.

.

.

“Well, you can see my predicament,” the man said to the young woman perched on the couch. The lavender chiffon of her dress rustled as she moved closer to the storyteller, thoroughly interested. "My wedding ring, the symbol of fidelity to my husband, soon to be father of my child, was now lost in the gut of an uncatchable fish.”

In the next room, Pete fidgeted as his father adjusted his tie. “Make him stop,” Pete muttered, listening to his prom date gasp. His father smiled softly and let go of the bow tie. “What did you do,” asked the girl breathlessly.

.

.

.

_I followed that fish upriver and downriver._

.

.

.

“This fish, The Beast, the whole time we were calling it a him, when in fact it was a her. It was fat with eggs, it was gonna lay any day,” said the man. The wedding guests sat back in their chairs, relaxing after a day of festivities. “Now, I was in a situation. I could gut that fish and get my wedding ring back, but in doing so I'd be killing the smartest catfish in the Westchester River. Did I want to deprive my son the chance to catch a fish like this of his own?”

Pietro kissed his new wife on the cheek and whispered in her ear before standing up and leaving the room. His father followed him. In the background, the man said, “This ladyfish and I, well, we had the same destiny. We were part of the same equation.”

In the dark hallway, Pete’s father patted my shoulder. “Oh, darling, darling, it's still your night,” he assured his son. Pete brushed him off and exited the boathouse.

.

.

.

“Now, you may well ask why did it strike so quick on gold when nothing else would attract it? That was the lesson I learned that day, the day my son was born,” said the man, raising his glass to his husband as he walked towards him, “Sometimes the only way to catch an uncatchable lover is to offer them a wedding ring.” His husband laid a soft kiss on his lips as the guests applauded.

.

.

.

“What, a father's not allowed to talk about his son?”

The man and Pietro faced off in the parking lot. Pete sighed, frustrated. “I'm a footnote in that story, Dad, the context for your great adventure━ which never happened, incidentally. You were selling novelty products in Wichita when I was born.”

“Come on, Pete. Everyone loves that story!” The man threw out his arms, trying to defend himself.

“They don't. I don't love that story. Not anymore. Not after a thousand times! I know every punch line, Dad. I can tell them as well as you can! For one night, one night in your entire life, the universe did not revolve around Erik Lensherr,” his son snapped, “How can you not understand that?”

Erik backtracked. “I'm sorry to embarrass you.”

Still angry, Pete lashed out. “You're embarrassing yourself, Dad. You just don't see it.”

.

.

.

After that night, I didn’t speak to my father again for three years.

We communicated indirectly. In his letters and Christmas cards, my other father wrote for both of them. And when I called, he’d say Dad was out driving or swimming in the pool. True to form, we never talked about not talking.

The truth is, I didn't see anything of myself in my father. And I did not think Erik saw anything of himself in me. We were like strangers who knew each other very well.

.

.

.

In telling the story of my father's life, it's impossible to separate fact from fiction, the man from the myth. The best I can do is to tell it the way he told me. It doesn't always make sense, and most of it never happened.

.

.

.

_A young man stood in the center of the Westchester River, a fishing line cast out in front of him. It was a special day for Erik Lensherr, he just didn't know it._

_A sharp tug on his line broke the young man out of his reverie. Looking down, his eyes went wide. Swimming beside his feet was the largest catfish to ever inhabit the river. The fish was massive, as long as a full grown man and twice as wide. Big with eggs, Erik realized. The Beast was a girl._

_The fish broke the line as it swallowed up his wedding ring and Erik sprang into action. Wrapping his arms around the catfish, he drug it from the water. The behemoth struggled, and man and fish wrestled for control._

_“ Give me back my ring,” Erik shouted at the fish as it barked, trying to retreat back into the river. The fish hacked and the gold wedding band sailed into Erik’s open palm. Erik, thoroughly dumbfounded, felt his arms go slack, and the giant catfish fell back into the water before swimming away._

_“Thank you,” Erik called out to the fish. He quickly put the ring back on his finger, staring out at the river._

.

.

.

But that's what kind of story this is.

.

.

.


	2. Hold to the now, the here, through which all future plunges to the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A guide to POVs:  
> Italicized and First Person- Erik (Speaking to audience)  
> Italicized and Third Person- Erik (Flashback)  
> Normal and First Person- Pietro (Speaking to audience)  
> Normal and Third Person- Pietro (Present)

.

.

.

Erik Lehnsherr’s birth would set the pace for his unlikely life. No longer than most men's, but larger.

.

.

.

_A young woman screamed as she bore down and pushed, her knees almost reaching her ears. Dr. Muñoz, one of the brightest young doctors in the state of Alabama, stood between her legs, coaching her along. Outside the door, a man in a suit anxiously paced as he listened to his wife moan._

__

_“I can see the head,” Muñoz said as the nurses rushed around, preparing for the imminent delivery. The woman cried out with one last great push._

.

.

.

And as strange as his stories got, the endings were always the most surprising of all.

.

.

.

_A tiny, wet baby shot out past Dr. Muñoz's unprepared hands. It flew out of the delivery room, pushing open the doors and sailing past its father before landing in the hallway. The baby slid on the linoleum and slipped through the legs of a doctor who tried to catch him. He had almost cleared the delivery wing entirely when a young nurse appeared at the end of the hall. Looking down, she just managed to catch the slippery thing. She held the unscathed baby up, a large grin decorating his tiny face._

__

_Erik Lehnsherr had entered the world._

.

.

.

It was a rainy day in Paris, and Crystal and Pete had just gotten back from grocery shopping. They could hear the phone ringing through the door as he opened it. Crystal bustled in, setting down her bags before picking up the phone. “Allo oui,” she asked, her voice slipping seamlessly into her native tongue. Pete put down his grocery bags on the counter. They had only moved to Paris a few weeks ago, and their apartment was still in the early stages of becoming a home. Several unpacked boxes sat in the corner, including the new crib his mother-in-law had bought them.  

“Yes. Yes, he's here,” his wife said in her thick accent. She held out the phone for Pete to take, whispering, “It’s your father.”

“Hi,” he said into the phone, listening to his father talk about his dad. “Uh-huh. And what does Dr. Muñoz say? No, sure, I’ll talk to him.”

Pete pushed the phone back from his mouth as Charles went to fetch the doctor on the other end of the line. Crystal looked at her husband carefully, gauging the news was from his reaction. “It’s bad?”

“Yeah, it’s more than they thought,” Pete sighed, rubbing his eyes, “They’re gonna stop chemo.”

“You need to go.”

“Probably tonight.”

“I’m going with you.”

“No, no, no. You shouldn't,” he said worriedly. Crystal was seven months pregnant with their first child and surely unfit to travel.

Her loving gaze became more determined. “I’m going with you.”

Pete released a small sigh of defeat and put his hand on her swollen belly, smiling softly.

.

.

.

_Erik sat on the edge of his son's bed, a single light illuminating them. He raised his hands and crooked his fingers, making a dog appear from its shadow. He panted, his finger moving like a dog's tongue and Pete giggled._

__

_Erik lowered his hand and leaned closer to the boy. "Now, which one is it gonna be? 'Monkey in the Barn' or 'Dog in the Road'?"_

__

_"The one about the witch," whispered Pete, eyes wide._

__

_"Your daddy says I can't tell you that one anymore," Erik said as his son sat up a bit in bed, "You get nightmares."_

__

_"I'm not scared," Pete said firmly, desperately wanting to hear the story._

__

_Erik pondered it for a second. Leaning out, he checked to see if his husband was in hearing distance. He was not. Erik leaned back towards Pete and whispered, “Well, neither was I, at first.”_

.

.

.

_Now, this took place in the swamp outside of Westchester. Children weren't allowed in the swamp on account of the snakes, spiders, and quicksand that would swallow you up before you could even scream. There were five of us out there that night: me, Angel, Sean, and the Shaw brothers:  Sebastian and Janos.  And not one of us knew what was in store._

__

_It's common knowledge that most towns of a certain size have a witch, if only to eat misbehaving children and the occasional puppy who wanders into her yard. Witches use those bones to cast spells and curses and make the land infertile._  
.

.

.

__

_The five children hunkered down in the grass behind the iron gate, making sure not to be seen. Lord knew what the witch would do if she found them. Cook them, roast them, put them a stew._

__

_Janos was the first to speak. “ Is it true she got a glass eye?”_

__

_“I heard she got it from gypsies,” Sean replied._

__

_“What's a gypsy?”_

__

_“Your momma's a gypsy.”_

__

_“Your momma's a bitch.”_

__

_“You shouldn't swear,” Angel whispered, “There's ladies present.”_

__

_“Shit,” whispered Janos._

__

_“Damn,” Sean mumbled._

__

_“Turn off your flashlights. She'll see you,” Sebastian whispered angrily as he shifted his weight. Erik could feel the wet grass beneath his palms. The swamp was ominous in the daylight, but at night it was downright spooky._

_._

.

.

_Yet of all the witches in Alabama, there was one who was said to be the most feared. For she had one glass eye which was said to contain mystical powers._  
.

.

.

_“I heard if you look right at it, you'll see how you're gonna die,” Sean said, lying on his stomach, sandwiched between Angel and Janos._

__

_Erik scoffed. “That's bull-S-H-l-T, that is. She's not even a real witch.”_

__

_Sebastian glared at him over the others, a sneer decorating his lips. “If you're so sure, go get that eye,” he dared._

__

_Erik glared back at him before looking back at the house. The witch’s house was big and probably had been very expensive at one point in time. There were columns at the front that framed the doorway and the windows could only be found when moonlight glinted off the glass hidden beneath vegetation. It was covered in ivy vines and the whole thing was slanted sideways. White paint had turned grey with time and exposure to the elements. It could have been a beautiful place if someone had taken care of it._

__

_Sebastian carried on behind him. “I heard she keeps it in a box on her night table. Or are you too scared?”_

__

_Erik looked back at the other boy, fire in his eyes. No way he was gonna let Sebastian make him out to be a sissy. “I'll go in right now and get that eye.”_

__

_“Then do it,” Sebastian snarked._

__

_“Fine, I will,” Erik shot back._

__

_“Fine, you do it,” said the other boy, standing up as he tried to pick a fight. Sebastian knew how to push Erik’s buttons in just the right way to make him do the most foolish things. It usually worked, too._

__

_“Fine, I'm doing it,” Erik said, joining him. He straightened out his coat and began stalking out to the dilapidated house._

__

_“Erik, don’t,” Angel quietly pleaded after him, but Erik ignored her as he walked on._

__

_“She'll make soap out of you. That's what she does,” muttered Sean as Erik passed him. The boy turned to Janos and told him matter-of-factly, “She makes soap out of people.” Janos cringed and wrinkled his nose as tugged the sleeves of his jacket further down his wrists. Sebastian rolled his eyes and said nothing._

__

_A small stone path lead through the tall grass to the house. Erik’s footsteps were silenced by the green carpet of moss and weeds that stuck up between the rocks. The black iron gate creaked as he pushed it open. The noise was thunderous against the chirping of crickets in the Alabama spring night, and Angel gasped. Reaching over to grab Sean’s jacket, she pulled her equally terrified friend with her to take off running through the dark woods. The Shaw brothers stayed put. Janos had been waiting all of his young life to see the legendary witch and he wasn’t about to chicken out at the last second. Sebastian, on the other hand, couldn’t bear the thought of Erik Lehnsherr meeting the witch and bragging about it til kingdom come._

__

_Slipping through the gate, Erik followed the little footpath to the front door, one careful step at a time. The witch’s lawn was covered in overgrown grasses and shrubs. Buddleja bushes sprouted freely and patches of fireweed littered the lawn. Some plants stood almost as tall as Erik himself. He surveyed the area, eyes running over the house. Something rustled in the bushes a few feet away and a tiny shriek came out of the darkness. Erik pulled back, startled, as the black form of a cat streaked out in front of him. Undeterred from his mission, he continued on up the steps of the house._

__

_The double doors might have been a lovely dark brown when the house was first built, but they had turned black from mistreatment and rot. The handles were just barely visible in the light, but Erik could see they were covered in a gold varnish. Ivy curled up and over the doorframe and the welcome mat was a pile of leaves. Stepping closer, Erik paused for a moment before reaching up to knock against the old wood. He never got the chance._

__

_The door swung open as quick as a wink and there she was. The witch of Westchester._

__

_The witch was tiny, almost an entire foot shorter than Erik. Her shoulders sloped forward into an almost aggressive slump. She wore a thick black dress with long sleeves, an impractical piece of clothing in Alabama no matter the weather. Her face was the same ashen grey as the house, with deep wrinkles and pits covering it instead of ivy. A thin mouth pulled down into the deepest scowl Erik had ever seen. However, her most prominent feature was the large, black eyepatch that circled her head and concealed her right eye. The other one glared at Erik._

__

_Startled by her sudden appearance, Erik jerked back. The witch appraised him, her visible eye widening a bit. She remained silent. Erik collected himself. Swallowing his fear, Erik pulled himself up to his full height and with the politeness of a southern gentleman said, “Ma'am, my name is Erik Lehnsherr, and there's some folks like to see your eye.”_

__

_A beat passed and then the witch jerked her head at him as if to say “Lead the way.”_

__

_Sebastian heard the sound of footsteps first and nudged his little brother as he stood up. Erik was walking down the path, causal as you like. They moved over to the gate to meet him. Erik stopped and stood stock still, a curious look covering his face. Sebastian resisted the urge to sneer. “You get The Eye?”_

__

_“I brought it,” Erik replied._

__

_Bull-S-H-l-T, that was. “Let's see it.”_

__

_Erik’s face did not move as he side-stepped over. The witch slumped behind him, her white hair glinting in the moonlight. She acted quickly. Her thin, bony fingers reached to flip up the eye patch, revealing her famous eye. It wasn’t a milky white like other glass eyes, but a strange yellow color. A black pupil sat in the middle of it and tiny black dots surrounded that. It reminded Sebastian vaguely of a cat._

__

_She directed her gaze to Janos first, making the little boy go pale with fear. He gazed at the witch’s eye as if it was a terrible accident and he just couldn’t stop looking at it. Sebastian was next and whatever he saw made him physically shake with fear. Erik never saw the boy look more scared in his life than that moment._

__

_The witch flipped the eyepatch back down again. Janos looked over at Erik desperately. “I saw how I was gonna die,” the little boy with chubby cheeks whispered, ”I was old and I fell.”_

__

_Sebastian intoned, “I wasn't old at all.”_

__

_Thoroughly petrified by the evening’s turn of events, the brothers glanced at each other before breaking out into a sprint for the main road._

__

_Erik turned back to the witch and smiled kindly at her before sticking out his arm to help her walk. The little old woman with a cane and the young boy slowly hobbled down the stone walkway. Erik gripped her arm a bit tighter as they climbed the steps. “I was thinking about death and all,” he stated, making sure she had both feet on the first step before helping her onto the next one. “About seeing how you're gonna die.”_

__

_The witch drifted closer to the door while Erik stayed in place. “I mean, on one hand, if dying was all you thought about, it could kind of screw you up,” he explained to her, face wrinkled in thought, “But it could kind of help you, couldn't it? Because, everything else, you'd know you could survive.”_

__

_The old woman twisted around suddenly and gave him a look that was almost playful, a small grin growing on her face. Erik tilted his head to the side with the wondering look on his face. “I guess I'm saying I'd like to know.”_

_The smile faded from the witch’s face and she moved closer to the boy. Reaching up, she gently lifted the eyepatch to show Erik her mystical eye. The boy observed it for a second and then smiled, content with whatever he saw. “Huh. That's how I go.”_

__

_The witch gave him another small grin. She took a step back into her house. The door closed without her lifting a finger._

.

.

.

In the future, another door opened.

Charles Lehnsherr had been wondering who could be coming by to visit on a Tuesday afternoon. Pete and Crystal stood on the porch, both bundled up in the coats they had worn in Paris. It had been almost six months since the pair of journalists had hopped across the pond and, despite the constant phone calls and letters, the couple was certainly a sight for sore eyes. “Oh,” he breathed softly, his grin accentuating the tiny crow's feet around his eyes. Pete’s father was almost seventy years old, but he had aged extremely gracefully.

Pete smiled back. “Hi, Dad.”

His father reached out and folded him into an embrace. After hugging Crystal and cooing over her baby bump, Charles ushered his daughter-in-law into the house for some tea while Pete unloaded their suitcases from the rental car. Charles followed him out to give his son a hand. A golden convertible that Pete had never seen before sat in the driveway. “Is that Dr. Muñoz's car?”

“Yes. He’s up with your father now.” Charles looked up and Pete followed his gaze. The bay windows of the master bedroom looked down on him.

Pete squinted in the sunlight. “And how is he?”

“Well━ no, I got it━ He's impossible,” Charles said, lifting up the heavy bag and starting the climb up the front steps. “He won't eat. Because he doesn't eat, he's weaker. Because he's weak, he doesn't want to eat.” The last part of the sentence came out as a giggle, as if Erik dying from cancer was just another one of his quirks. It always amazed Pete just how crazy his father was for his husband after all the years they had been together.

“How much time does he have left?”

Charles stilled at the question and turned to look at his only child. His face drew in and suddenly his wrinkles no longer seemed dignified. His deep blue eyes filled with sadness. He looked almost drained for a moment. It struck Pete for the first time that his father was old. And not only was he old, but he was watching the love of his life get sicker and sicker before his very eyes. It made Pete almost want to look away. But it was only a moment before Charles straightened up and gave his son a sad, little smile. He gently reminded Pete, “You don't talk about that. Not yet.”

The two men brought the bags into the living room before heading to the kitchen. Pete told his father about his latest article, Charles filled him in on how his various relations were doing. Crystal sat at the kitchen table as she nursed a steaming cup of tea. Her husband made to go to her but a voice at the end of the hall stopped him. “Pete.”

He looked over. Dr. Muñoz limped down the small hall into the kitchen, his cane thumping loudly against the floor. The man was almost ninety years old, but he continued to work at the hospital and make house calls. The doctor wore a black suit with a white, freshly starched shirt with a terrible brown and gold tie and a shiny pair of dress shoes. His hair was grayer than the last time Pete saw him, but otherwise he looked exactly the same. “Dr. Muñoz. Oh, it's good to see you.” The doctor reached out to shake his hand firmly. Pete motioned to the woman next to them. “My wife, Crystal.”

The pregnant woman rose from her seat to take the doctor’s hand. “A pleasure,” Dr. Muñoz said, his old voice deep and grovelly. He looked down at Crystal’s belly. “You’re seven months,” he told her matter-of-factly with a gentle smile.

Crystal broke out in a big grin. “To the day!”

Across the kitchen Charles rummaged around in the refrigerator, and Pete left the two of them to see to his father. As soon as he was out of earshot, Muñoz leaned in and whisper conspiratorially, “It’s a girl,” before winking at the French woman. Her face lit up and a huge grin spread over her face.

On the other side of the room, Charles closed the fridge door before turning to Pete, a nutrition shake can in his hand. He held it out to his son. “Try to get him to drink one of these.” Pete took the can wordlessly. It was strange, knowing this was the only way his dad could eat anymore. He looked back up at his father. Charles smiled encouragingly before saying, “He won't, but go ahead and try.”

It had been months since Pete climbed the steps upstairs in his childhood home. Pictures lined the wall all the way up. Some were of family outings or various Little League teams. A younger version of Charles being presented with his doctorate. Erik leaning against a beautiful old car that was shining in the sunlight. Years and years worth of memories hung on the wall as if to prove a family had lived there once. Pete’s footfalls became louder in his ears as he reached the top of the stairs and turned down the hall. The door to the master bedroom was cracked open. Pete stepped inside.

The only light came in through the window, the beams dissected by the slits in the blinds before bouncing off the stormy blue wall paper and the cherry furniture. The majority of the room was taken up by a king size sleigh bed. In the bed lay Pete’s father. Erik wore blue and white pinstripe pajamas that stretched across the wide expanse of his chest. His skin was paler than Pete remembered. He was still a large man and took up the center of the bed. From where Pete was standing his dad looked asleep.

Speaking gently, he asked, “Dad?”

Apparently he was awake. Erik moved his head to get a better look at his visitor, squinting old eyes to see who disturbed him. Pete stood at the end of the bed and raised his hand in greeting. Erik squinted at him for a few more seconds and then motioned his hand towards the bedside table where a pitcher and glass sat. “Water,” Pete asked, “ You want some water?” He moved around to the other side of the bed, pouring a glass and handing it to his dad. Erik gripped the straw and took a few gulps, groaning as he swallowed.

Finished with his drink, Erik fixed his son with a steady look. “You are in for a surprise,” he rumbled, his rough voice and thick accent combining to make a deep, hearty sound.

Pete raised his eyebrows. “Am I?”

“Having a kid changes everything,” Erik told him seriously. “There's the diapers and the burping and the midnight feeding.” His eyes went wide like he was a little kid telling a ghost story.

“Did you do any of that?” Pete looked down on his father, eyebrows raised.

“No,” replied Erik. “But I hear it’s terrible.” Pete shook his head. His dad had always been on the road when he was a kid, leaving his father behind to take care of everything. When the man had been home, he had been much more interested in playing around and telling stories than parenting.

Erik continued with his lecture. “Then you spend years trying to corrupt and mislead this child, fill its head with nonsense, and still it turns out perfectly fine.”

“You think I'm up for it?”

“You learned from the best.”

Pete avoided eye contact with his dad as he look down at his hands. Holding up the can, he shook it a little to show Erik. The older man groaned as a look of disgust covering his face. “Drink half the can. I'll tell Dad you drank it all,” said Pete, “Everyone wins.” He took the empty water glass from his father and gave him the can.

Erik fumbled with the shake. “People needn't worry so much. It's not my time yet. This is not how I go.”

“Really,” Pete responded sarcastically, turning around to set the empty glass down.

“Truly. I saw it in The Eye,” Erik told him.

Pete stepped back and pulled up a chair next to the bed. “The old lady by the swamp?”

“She was a witch.”

“No, she was old and probably senile.” Pete watched his father take a sip of his drink before he replied.

“I saw my death in that eye, and this isn't how it happens,” Erik retorted, leaning back against his pillows.

Pete began to grow frustrated. “So how does it happen?”

Erik took another drink. “Surprise ending,” he told Pete,”Wouldn't want to ruin it for you.” Pete sighed. Typical. his father would rather go to the grave than give him a straight answer.

His dad smiled at him. “Your father thought we wouldn't talk again. Look at us. We're talking fine.” Another sip, another grimace. “We're storytellers, both of us. I speak mine out, you write yours down. Same thing.”

“Dad...” Pete started, hesitant to say his piece. “I hope to talk about some things while I'm here.”

“You mean while I’m here,” Erik interjected.

Pete pressed on. “I just want to know the true versions of things: Events. Stories. You.”

His father took a drink and then let loose a thunderous cough. Pete moved to help him sit up. Erik’s large body moved with the force of the coughs before they died down. His son helped him lay back down. Erik looked past him and out the window before sighing. “Your father hasn't been keeping up the pool. lf you wanted to, you could fix it.”

Pete rolled his eyes. His father and his stupid swimming pool. “Yeah, I will.”

  
“You know where the chemicals are?”

“I did it when you were gone.” A little jab at a sore spot.

Erik jumped on Pete’s point. “I was never much for being at home, Will. Too confining. And this here, being stuck in bed,” the old man lamented, “Dying is the worst thing that's ever happened to me.”

“I thought you said you weren't dying,” retorted Pete, trying to trip up his dad.

“I said this isn't how I go,” Erik replied, handing his son the half-full can. “The last part is much more unusual. Trust me on that.”

It was a cue to go if Pete ever saw one. He nodded his head and stepped out of the room, leaving his father to his dying. Shutting the door, he took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. Erik always knew what buttons to push, knew exactly how to wind Pete up and watch him spin. Coming down, he remembered his promise and took a swig of the nutrition shake. He gagged a little. No wonder Erik refused to drink them. They were godawful. Shaking his head, Pete wandered to the bathroom to send the rest of the drink down the sink.

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_Twenty-seven years earlier, Pete was bundled up in various blankets and sheets, a thermometer sticking out of the corner of his mouth. The device read 99.6 degrees, a low grade fever that would help him sweat out the bug, but the heat and an unbearable itching sensation was making the boy absolutely miserable. Pietro looked up at his father pitifully. “Dr. Muñoz said I have to stay at home for a week.”_

__

_Erik smiled down at his son, a spark of excitement in his eyes. Truthfully he was bone tired. The salesman had driven all night from Texarkana to get home only to find his son sick and his husband hovering over him like a hummingbird. He sent Charles to bed promising to stay up with their son until he fell asleep. Erik was still in his crumpled blue suit, and his hair and sideburns were in desperate need of grooming. But Petey was sick and lonely, and Erik knew just the thing to make him feel better. “Oh, that's nothing. Once, I had to stay in bed for three years.”_

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_“Did you have the chickenpox?” Pete’s face was a warm pink that made the little red dots stand out on his face._

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_“I wish.”_

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_Truth is, no one quite knew what was wrong._

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_If there was one thing the citizens of Westchester could be admired for, it was their fear of God._

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_ Every Sunday morning people all over town woke up, scrubbed their faces, put on their best clothes, buttoned their suits, arranged their hats, slapped on some lipstick, and scuttled off to the big, white Baptist church in the middle of town. Everyone came to church, men and women, young and old. And with good reason: not attending brought someone’s descent into a social pariah. Everyone in town would know you had not shown up. Ladies would gossip about you, men would give you disapproving glares, and grandmothers wou ld constantly tell you how they were praying for your soul. Staying home on Sunday really was social suicide. _

__

_But going to church with the whole town had its perks. The Westchester parish could bring down the house with their singing._

__

_Erik was sitting next to his mama, singing along with the rest of them when it happened. All gussied up, his hair combed into submission, he looked positively spiffy. He started the next verse. “To save a wretch like me.” But something strange happened, for on the last word, Erik’s voice involuntarily dropped an octave. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion._

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_There was a new sensation in his feet and his shoes felt tighter. He looked down. The brown patent leather stretched and rippled, and the pain in his feet got worse and worse. Erik was sure they were going to burst open. His chest was expanding as well and his stomach bulged out, straining the buttons on his nice shirt. One, no two, white buttons popped off, one of them beaming Mrs. Moray in the back of the head. Erik tried not to panic as the everyone else finished the song._

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_Most times a person grows up gradually while I found myself in a hurry. My muscles and my bones couldn't keep up with my body's ambition._

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_So I spent the better part of three years confined to my bed with the encyclopedia being my only means of exploration. I had made it all the way to the G's hoping to find an answer to my "gigantificationism" when I uncovered an article about the common goldfish._  
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_Anyone who could have seen thirteen year old Erik Lehnsherr would have thought he was a science experiment._

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_As a result of his rapid growing, Erik was confined to his bed small bed for an indefinite amount of time. As weeks passed and his condition did not improve, the doctors commissioned a group of engineers to design the boy a bed that could exercise his muscles for him while he lay there. Two curved rods hung over the bed. From them four different wires came down and cuffed Erik’s wrists and ankles. A machine at the end of the bed moved his feet up and down to simulate walking. A different machine moved his shoulders up and down. A final wire from the ceiling held a wide, curved piece of metal that Erik could rest his books on._

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_The boy’s eyes trailed up and down the page, stopping a new article. Reading aloud, he said to himself, “"Kept in a small bowl the goldfish will remain small.” He looked at the pictures attached to the article. One was of a normal goldfish and the other was a much larger fish with similar features. “With more space the fish will grow double, triple, or quadruple its size."_

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_Erik looked up at the ceiling as he thought._

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_It occurred to me then that perhaps the reason for my growth was that I was intended for larger things. After all, a giant man can't have an ordinary-sized life._   
  


_As soon as my bones had settled in their adult configuration I set upon my plan to make a bigger place for myself in Westchester._

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_Erik Lehnsherr, now sixteen years old, stepped up to home plate and made himself comfortable. If Westchester High School’s baseball team won this game, they would go on to state. He settled himself into position, gripping the wood bat tight. The opposition’s pitched pulled up, drew back his arm, and threw. Erik felt the ball and bat connect, heard the crack as he sent the ball out of the park. Throwing the bat to the side, he ran to first base, second, third, and finally home._

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_The crowd roared and clapped for the star player. The team lept off the bench, shouting at their teammate. The only one who remained seated was Sebastian Shaw who looked on at his peer in disbelief._

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_Grabbing hold of the football, Erik took off running in the opposite direction. A group of players were engaged in wrestling match in front of him, so he stepped on someone’s back and pushed himself over the fray. Sprinting as hard as he could, Erik ducked under and dodged the opposite team’s players before making a textbook touchdown to win the game. The crowd went wild and set about storming the field, creating a storm of red and white. One of the Westchester cheerleaders, a pretty redhead named Magda Maximoff, sighed to herself, “Erik Lehnsherr,” before enthusiastically waving her pom-poms._

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_Sebastian Shaw struggled to free himself from the pile of football players and rubbed the sore part of his back where Lehnsherr stepped on him before spitting out the grass in his mouth._

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_And so it continued. By the time Erik graduated from high school (top of his class, naturally), he had single-handedly lead the basketball team to a state championship, placed first in the high school science fair, and started a wildly successful lawn mowing enterprise. He even dove into a burning building to save the Zimmerman family dog when their house caught on fire._

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_I was the biggest thing Westchester had ever seen. Until one day, a stranger arrived._

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_The summer following Erik’s graduation, strange occurrences began to take place on the outskirts of town. Sheep went missing left and right as their owners desperately tried to keep them safe. Farmer Livingston opened his grain silo one day to find all of his wheat had disappeared. No one understood what was happening until one morning when Mr. Marko opened his barn and found the silhouette of a humongous man punched clean through the south wall. It became abundantly clear to the townspeople what the problem was: a giant had moved to Westchester._

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_That afternoon the mayor called a town assembly for the disgruntled farmers to come to a conclusion. However the meeting quickly erupted into chaos as the citizens bickered over how to deal with their monstrous new neighbor._

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_“Mr. Mayor, he ate an entire corn field,” called out Mr. Anderson._

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_Young Kitty Pryde dolefully said, “He ate my dog.”_

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_“If you ain't gonna stop him, mayor,” Mr. Marko threatened as he reloaded his shotgun for effect, “We will.”_

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_The mayor, clearly overwhelmed by the backlash, struggled to maintain control of the situation. “I won't have mob violence in this town,” he said sternly. “Now, has someone tried talking to him?”_

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_“You can't reason with him,” cried a voice from the crowd, “He’s a monster.” The rest of the group erupted in agreement. The mayor shook his head at the dissent and wondered if it was too late to call in the National Guard._

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_One voice, strong and clear, rose above the crowd and reached every ear. “I’ll do it!”_

__

_The group parted like the Red Sea as Erik Lehnsherr stepped up to the podium where the mayor and the city council members stood. Tall and strikingly handsome, the young man seemed almost bashful as he said, “I'll talk to him. See if I can get him to go.”_

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_The mayor, shocked by the selfless act of valor coming from such a young man, leaned down a little bit to speak to Erik. “That creature could crush you without trying,” he warned, concerned for the young man’s safety._

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_Erik split into a big grin, showing off two rows of strong, white teeth. “Oh, trust me, he'll have to try.”_

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_The townspeople burst into applause, cheering and whooping at the Pride of Westchester. At the back of the crowd sitting with his cronies, Sebastian Shaw puffed on a stolen cigarette and rolled his eyes._

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_Erik followed the trail enormous footsteps stemming from Mr. Marko’s barn for hours over hill and over dale until he reached the river bank. From there the steps turned upstream and lead him straight to the mouth of a massive cave. Erik crept up to the entrance, his feet squishing in the wet mix of rocks and sand as he avoided the various livestock skeletons littering the beach. Noises filtered out of the cave that sounded distressingly like someone chewing. Erik gulped and nervously called out, “Hello?”_

__

_No response._

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_Gathering up his courage, Erik planted his feet and straightened his spine. “My name is Erik Lehnsherr, and I wanna talk to you!”_

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_“Go away!” came a deep voice from inside the cavern. Erik swore he could feel a gust of wind blow past him with the giant’s words. He remained undeterred._

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_“Now, I'm not going anywhere until you show yourself!” Erik shouted back into the cave._

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_“I said,” rumbled the voice, “Go away!” The ground began to shake beneath Erik’s feet, sending him tumbling into the sand. He looked up in time to see a hulking figure step out from the cave. The giant was different than what Erik expected. Pushing back long hair filled with a variety of sticks and leaves, the “monster” had a boyish face with kind (albeit annoyed) eyes and a long nose. His clothes were made of animal skins shoddily sewn together to cover his 12 foot tall frame. He had enormous hands and feet to match his size, and he carried himself poorly, shuffling with each step._

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_Erik was filled with a new feeling: terror._

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_Armed with the foreknowledge of my own death, I knew the giant couldn't kill me. All the same, I preferred to keep my bones unbroken._

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_Erik scrambled to find something to protect himself. Feeling the ground around him, he happened across a rather large rock and, gripping it firmly, chucked it s hard as he could at the imposing figure. It hit the giant squarely in the chest and bounced back to the earth. The titan looked more annoyed than injured by the projectile, glancing at the rock before turning his gaze on its pitcher. Erik went a little weak in the knees._

_The behemoth moved some hair out of his eyes. “Why are you here?” he asked with a suspicious voice._

__

_Desperate to keep up appearances, Erik looked the giant right in the eye. “So you can eat me,’ he told him matter-of-factly. The giant quirked a furry eyebrow. Erik continued, “The town decided to send a human sacrifice and I volunteered.” Looking down at his body, Erik stretched out his arms for display. “My arms are a little stringy, but there's some good eating in my legs. I mean, I'd be tempted to eat them myself!”_

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_Erik grinned at his own joke. The giant did not respond._

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_Smile fading, he stretched out his arms a bit more towards the larger man. “If you'd just get it over with quick, because I'm not much for pain, really.” Erik closed his eyes, face twisting as he prayed to get out of this mess unscathed. The sound of heavy footsteps made him look up to see the giant settling his massive body on a fallen oak. The wood creaked under the humongous man for a second before giving way with a sharp crack._

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_Erik turned indignant. “Oh, come on! I can't go back!” he shouted. “I'm a human sacrifice!” He walked up the short incline to settle next to the giant’s legs. “If I go back, they'll think I'm a coward. I'd rather be dinner than a coward.” Erik stuck his hand out. “Here. You can start with my hand. It'll be an appetizer.”_

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_An even larger paw smacked erik’s hand out of the way. “I don't want to eat you,” rumbled the giant. “I don’t want to eat anybody.” He looked down at his enormous feet. If Erk had to describe the bigger man, he would say he almost looked depressed. “I just get so hungry,” the leviathan lamented, “I’m just too big.”_

__

_Overcome with pity for the large man, Erik leaned forward and kindly suggested, “Did you ever think that maybe you're not too big, but maybe this town is just too small?”_

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_The giant shook his head. Erik continued, “I've heard in real cities there are buildings so tall you can't even see the tops of them.”_

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_“Really?” asked the giant._

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_“Oh, I wouldn't lie to you,” Erik assured him. “And all-you-can-eat buffets. Now, you can eat a lot, can't you?” The giant nodded in agreement. “You're a big man. You should be in a big city.”_

__

_The larger man leaned forward suddenly, eyes slanted. “You're just trying to get me to leave, aren't you?”_

__

_Erik shook his head. “What’s your name, giant?”_

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_“Hank,” confessed the giant._

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_“Well, mine's Erik. And truthfully...” Erik paused. “Well, I do want you to leave, Hank. But I want to leave with you!” He pointed a finger back in the direction of Westchester. “I mean, you think this town is too small for you? Well, it's too small for a man of my ambition.”_

__

_He stuck his hand out towards Hank once more, but for a different reason this time. “So, what do you say? Join me?”_

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_Erik saw the giant mulling the idea over in his head. “Okay,” Hank finally agreed. Reaching out, he gently grasped Erik’s entire hand with just his fingertips and shook it carefully._

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_Erik burst into a wide grin. “Okay! Now, first, we gotta get you ready for the city.”_

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_After procuring Hank some fitting clothes and a fine haircut, the community of Westchester gathered together to supply the two men with provisions and organize a farewell parade. The high school marching band played, the church choir sung, and the shriners buzzed around in their small motor cars. Erik was given a key to the city by the mayor who seemed close to tears. Erik and Hank strolled down Main Street and waved to the cheering crowds on the sidewalk._

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_Several people shouted out advice to the young men._

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_“Find yourself a nice girl, now!” cried Mrs. Clancy._

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_Mr. Kingston called out, “Watch your pride, Erik Lehnsherr!”_

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_But there was one person whose counsel I held above all others._

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_Erik scanned the hoard of townspeople, looking for various acquaintances before his eyes landed on Westchester’s oldest resident. She seemed frailer than she had been when he was a boy. Dressed completely in black despite the warm day, she motioned to him with one finger as she hunched over her cane. Erik split away from his traveling companion, promising to return in a moment._

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_Sprinting over to the old witch, he knelt down to hear her clearly as she whispered her advice in his ear._

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_She said that the biggest fish in the river gets that way by never being caught._

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_Erik furrowed his brow and nodded as if he understood the old woman. The witch of Westchester patted his arm and motioned for him to go. Shoving his way through the crowd, Erik shouted his goodbyes to the town as he rejoined Hank. The giant looked down at the smaller man who waved to a group on a float. “What'd she say?”_

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_Erik shrugged his shoulders. “Beats me.”_

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**.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me at psychedlipgloss.tumblr.com to watch a fangirl flail around the internet.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me at thedjthundercat.tumblr.com to see a fangirl flail around on the Internet.


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